From Ashes We Came & To Dust We Shall Return
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: Hey everybody! Sorry that it has been a bit of time; I needed to take a break. I got this idea in my head pairing all three Everdeen women with new lovers. Katniss is never Reaped for the Games and watches some of the events of Catching Fire play out as a poor, anonymous young Seam woman. Who will she choose to fall in love and be with? Will her mother and Prim find love? Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: All Sorts of Trouble

**Chapter 1: All Sorts of Trouble**

I sleep through the rooster's crow one bright Sunday morning; it is the damn cat who wakes me, jumping up on my bed. By the time I am off with my late start, the sun is high in the sky. In a way, it's my own damn fault that I overslept; every other morning, the sound of the miners' bell usually wakes all wives and other families, an hour or two before dawn. But Sunday is the day of rest, miners included. And that means Gale Hawthorne, my best friend and hunting partner, likely already went out beyond the meadow fence and into the woods today. Indeed, by the time I reach some of our set snares, I can tell just by tracking that Gale has checked them this morning. My confidence in him allows me to be a little slow and lazy; I manage to bag just a couple squirrels and one rabbit - not enough to sell at the Hob in town, but maybe to give my family stew and one squirrel trade with the Baker. Besides, I trust that Gale bagged enough to make the daily Hob run for the both of us. I decide to stop back at my house in the Seam to drop off the rabbit, then head over to the Baker's later. That transaction is almost always enjoyable, so long as the Baker's witch of a wife doesn't answer the door off the back loading dock. Better yet, it will be a good excuse to see Peeta.

I enter through the front door, and nearly trip over Buttercup, that damn cat. Mother bustles forward, clad in her finest Merchant frocks and generally looking beautiful. She actually manages a gentle smile. "Did you have a good walk, dear?"

I frown, not sure how she could qualify my daily hunt as a mere morning constitution. "Uh... yeah."

There was a time when there wasn't as much color in Mother's cheeks, not as much light in her eyes. Things have been better the last seven months or so, ever since the end of the 74th Hunger Games. The finale to the annual fight-to-the-deaht between two dozen teenagers was controversial last year. Our two tributes from the Seam - kids a year or so younger than me who I had heard of but didn't know - made it to the Final Two. District 12 was assured a Victor for the first time since Haymitch Abernathy close to a quarter-century ago. But then a previous rule change allowing two winners was revoked. The two Seam kids - apparently lovers - committed suicide by poisonous berries, leaving the Games for the first time with no Victor.

Panem has been roiling ever since.

As for Mother, the strange ending to the kill spree seemed to bring back as much life to her as it did to most of District 12 and the other districts who are now rebelling against the Capitol. She has gone back to work as a Healer and tried to actually cope for the death of her husband, my father, who was killed in a mining accident when I was 11. After the explosion, Mother pretty much shut down, leaving me to raise my little sister, Prim. Although I have noted and appreciated her efforts to take a more active role in her daughters' lives, I know it will be a long road and time before I can forgive her for her abandonment.

At the very least, I have learned to be cordial with her. "I overslept. Took it a little slow today; didn't bag as much. Here's dinner." I offer up the rabbit, and Mother holds it up by its foot, examining it.

"It'll make a fine stew."

"Good pelt, too," I add, as Primrose's blond curls flounce downstairs. I greet her with a kiss on the forehead. "I know Gale probably took care of most of the haul and is halfway to the Hob by now."

It is like someone has flipped a switch. Primrose immediately brightens, almost cartoonishly so. "Gale? How is he? Did you cross paths with him on his way back?"

I do my best to stifle a smirk. I know my sister has had a schoolgirl crush on my hunting partner since she was school-age. With the six-year age difference between them, I really should discourage her. Mother has always looked upon it with a sigh, shake of the head, and a bit of disappointment projected my way. She has always for some reason assumed that Gale and I would marry someday. After all, I am 16 - in this district, that's the age of consent. Gale is 18, just off his last Reaping. There would be nothing holding him back from proposing marriage to me. And we've known each other for years. In fact, one winter's day several weeks back, Gale up and kissed me out of the blue after a hunt. I kissed him back, if for no other reason than to see what he tasted like. Fresh oranges, I concluded. However, what I also concluded, after we broke apart, was that I felt no romantic spark or lust between us. Gale, with great relief, felt the same. Besides, we work better as friends than we ever could as husband and wife.

I hear a firm knock on the door. "I'll get it!" I run to our front door, brightening with a beaming smile at who greets me. "Peeta... hi." Next to me, Primrose thinks it's her turn to smirk.

Peeta Mellark has been my other best friend since our first day of kindergarten. He came up to me in my red dress and pigtails, right after singing the Valley Song at an assembly, and told me I sang like a bird, no - an angel! He bashfully couldn't decide between the two, but his confession nonetheless warmed my heart and usually standoffish nature. We have been inseparable ever since, topped off with a business transaction and partnership that is mutually beneficial to us both. And ever since, Primrose has gotten the fantasy in her head that Peeta and I would be well-suited to have... other transactions. I have always dismissed her knowing smirks and twinkling eyes out of hand. For while Peeta and I have a close friendship, he is Merchant. I'm Seam. And Merchant and Seam just don't fall in love, much less marry each other. Don't they? The argument in my head is always weakened by just one look at my mother. She grew up Merchant before running off to elope with my Seam father. And despite the social ostracism she suffered, their marriage was a happy one. Bore them two beautiful daughters.

"Good morning, Katniss!" Peeta grins. "I thought I would come by to pick up the daily squirrel delivery. You weren't by this morning..."

Gale must not have bagged any squirrel then, otherwise he would have made the trade himself. Smiling apologetically, I procure the squirrels for him. He beams.

"Right in the eye, every time!" he crows. For some reason, I feel my face grow warm and heat bloom on my neck. Primrose looks between us, hawkishly trying to detect if there is something more there. I won't give her the satisfaction.

"I'll see you this afternoon," I promise him, trying to make up for oversleeping. "Meet me for dinner tonight in the Hob?"

"Plan on it," he grins with a wink. Waving goodbye, I close the door behind him.

"Wow - you asked him on a date first. That was easy!" Prim is practically dancing.

"It's not a date!" I snap. My sister cocks an eyebrow at me precociously. I bristle. "It's not," I insist.

"Whatever you say, dear," and I am surprised to find that the lack of support comes from my mother. A second knock on the door saves me from further mortification.

"He must have forgotten something," I conclude. I really shouldn't be so Pavlovian in my responses where Peeta is concerned, lest I fuel Primrose's ludicrous theories. Mother, however, beats me to the door. But when she opens it, she freezes, and it is now her turn to look oddly flustered.

A sinfully handsome Peacekeeper stands on our front stoop, with flaming red hair tumbling almost down to his neck. Deep, piercing green eyes and a devilish smile. Darius Freeman was assigned here as a wet-behind-the-ears Peacekeeper cadet who arrived fresh off the train just a few weeks after the end of the 74th Hunger Games. It was part of a crack-down on the Capitol's part, to root out rebellion by cycling through Peacekeepers, replacing the old guard with new cadets freshly graduated from the Academies in District 2. That way, complacency and corruption could be shaken up within the Peacekeeping apparatuses in the districts. Since then, there have been slightly stricter punishments for petty crime in Twelve.

And ever since then, Darius has come to call at our home.

The Seam is his main area of patrol. But he also has a back condition that requires chiropractic skill and a Healer's medicine, both of which my mother is happy to provide. Exactly how happy is the question and a point of great curiosity to me, if not more so to Primrose. Although I have never actually seen Mother massage out the cricks in Darius's spine, I imagine the suggestively intimate action must get her all flustered. As flustered as she appears to be now.

"Peacekeeper Freeman," she greets him oddly formally. "What can I do for you?" She really should relax more when talking around him. I have, simply because Darius is friendlier than most other Peacekeepers. Freeman is not his real last name - all new cadets are stripped of their identity in training and given the new surname when sent out on first assignment. The most I know about Darius (or at least the most that he is willing to share) is that he is 21 years old - a man unusually young for Mother to get hot and bothered about.

"Good morning, Mrs. Everdeen," Darius smiles kindly. "I was just wondering if that new prescription is ready?"

"Oh, um... yes," Mother stammers, her fingers aimlessly bunching up the fabric of her apron. "If you'll, um... just wait here..." She dithers back into the kitchen. For just a flash - I must have imagined it - I thought I caught Darius subtly observing the swish of my mother's gown, the natural sway of her hips, as she walks. Within a moment, she is back with the medicine, still looking all a-twitter. "Here you are, Peacekeeper Freeman..."

"Call me Darius. Or Dar, if you'd prefer," he smiles kindly.

Mother smiles warmly back. "OK... Darius."

"It's always so nice, to see such beautiful Seam flowers on this fine morning," Darius surveys all of us, his gaze falling last on Mother. "They take after their mother, to be sure." Quite gallantly, he takes Mother's hand and actually kisses it. "Good day to you, Mrs. Everdeen -"

"Belle!" Mother blasts out. She smiles weakly again. "It's Belle."

Darius beams. "Very well. Until next week... Belle." He saunters off, Mother pulling the door to behind her.

"He's in love with you," Prim pronounces.

"Wh... what?" Mother stammers, jumping a little.

For once, I smirk, joining in on the game. It might be terribly hypocritical of me, and I may have own thoughts and reservations to say on the subject, but in this moment, I don't care. "And you like him..."

Mother trills out a laugh and returns to her herbal tea she is brewing. "You're imagining things, my girls! And even if he did, I am too old. I don't have time to... fall in love! I have got nothing to offer..."

That's yet another lie. I have heard the stories of Mother in her youth, how her beauty made the other Merchant girls jealous. And though Daddy's death aged her somewhat, she is still quite striking and pretty, at only 41. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad for Mother to marry again. And this is coming from someone who would never opt into marriage herself, whose thoughts on her mother's potential remarriage have evolved only glacially, speeding up to gradually within the last seven months. All the same, I would feel better about it if Mother's prospective suitor and gentleman caller wasn't nearly half her age!

Yet another knock shakes us from our gossip. I've indulged myself too much in it anyway. "Oh, who is it now?" I huff. I should let Primrose get the door this time and make a silent bet that it is Gale who will greet us and turn her into a giddy songbird. But I pull back the handle anyway. Darius is back, only this time with Peeta at his side. They both look oddly pale. Darius's muscular chest is heaving nervously, and I almost wonder if he has found an excuse to come back here, perhaps pluck up the juevos to ask Mother out on a date. Or just grab her and kiss her. Wouldn't that be a sight! Although why poor Peeta has been roped into it, I don't know.

"Did you boys forget something?" I crack my best attempt at humor. It falls flat.

"I just got a call on my radio after running into young Mellark here," Darius pants. "It's Gale. He's been arrested."

I gape. I can't remember the last time anyone was arrested, even during the recent crackdown here. Perhaps poor Gale is the example they will set as the district begins to embark on tighter security in earnest. "For what reason?"

"Poaching," Peeta cuts in. "Purnia says he was caught out back of old Cray's place with a full deer carcass."

Our regular trade with the Head Peacekeeper - a laxadaisical man addicted to wine and sex. And who largely looks the other way on our kills, even gets in on the take. Gale probably went to the back door same as he always does, expecting to see Cray...

Except whoever greeted him at the door wasn't Cray. The coup is now complete. The Head Peacekeeper has finally been deposed. My eyes wide with fear, I spring out the door in a dead sprint for the Hob, Darius and Peeta breaking into a run to keep up with me. Behind, I spy Prim pelting after us, practically shaking. "Primrose! Stay with Mother!" I order over my shoulder. She reluctantly obeys.

My friends and I reach the square in front of the Justice Building in record time. My heart sinks. A crowd has already formed, taking in a spectacle at the center as I push through the cluster of bodies.

A pepper-gray haired Peacekeeper with wrinkles set into his face is looming over a body lashed to the whipping post. A whip is reared back in his hand, poised to strike. But two people are standing in his way. The Victors of District 12.

The man, Haymitch Abernathy, appears to be pleading with the Head Peacekeeper, the blond toupee on his head bobbing nervously. Both of his hands are splayed out in a placating gesture. "You're new here. My name's Haymitch. You recognize me?" I hear him saying.

"Get out of my way, you old drunk! This boy was caught red-handed with the Mayor's deer!" The accusation reeks of bullshit. None of the deer who wander in or just beyond District 12 have been claimed by Mayor Undersee. There is no law on the books that I know of that says wild animals are property. The stipulation sounds archaic, feudal. And even if it existed, Mayor Undersee is a generous man, willing to share goods with the least of the people. I can hear voices grumbling around us, and I look to Peeta and Darius. The baker's son has an eyebrow arched worriedly. Darius's expression is more blank and frozen. I can't see his one hand, and I almost wonder if he is... reaching for the holster of his gun? But what could he do? Could he really perform an act of insubordination? His rise has been fast here, quickly promoted to Deputy Head Peacekeeper under Cray, though who knows if that appointment will be honored or last. All the same, I hope Darius doesn't risk it, no matter how much my heart sounds out a battle cry.

"Commander Thread... we beg of you, stand down," the elderly woman and Haymitch's mentor is saying. Cassiope Fletch won the 16th Hunger Games decades ago, and for a long time was District 12's only champion living in exile high on the hill in Victor's Village. Haymitch clinched his Victory several years before Peeta and I were born. "The boy didn't know; he will learn and remember this lesson. Besides, someone else might get hurt with that whip. Do you really want it to be us?"

There is tense silence as Thread's jaw clenches. His teeth gnash with anger. He has been stood up by two Victors. Actually been challenged by two people, probably for the first time in his life. I can tell he doesn't like it one bit. The rage he is barely holding back appears almost petulant, like an extremist who has been whipped into a frenzy and subsequently made to look a fool. Or a child who has been denied a cookie.

"All right," he huffs, growls. "Get him out of my sight!" Darius, Peeta and I take that as our cue to rush forward and cut Gale free. I hold my friend's bloodied face tenderly, for Primrose's sake, as Darius cuts Gale free with his penknife. From the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch shoot us a grateful look. Working together, Peeta and Darius manage to heave Gale off his feet, first into a fireman's lift, and then a casket's hoist. Haymitch moves to help them, Cassiope bringing up our rear. The crowd disperses, scatters, as Thread finally gives himself permission to utterly melt down. Throw a dangerous tantrum that, if left unchecked, could result in the death of us all.

"CLEAR THE SQUARE! YOU'RE ALL UNDER CURFEW! ANYONE FOUND OUT AFTER DARK WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT!"

* * *

A few more helpers join us on our flight back to my house. Thom Borden, the Miner Foreman and one of Gale's particular friends. Purnia Freeman, a Peacekeeper woman in her late-30s and the one who called in Gale's arrest.

Mother and Prim clearly got prepared in our absence. As soon as we shuffle his body in past the front door, my mother and sister descend on him. Gale is moaning the whole time.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask.

"He needs morphling!" Mother calls out. "And a snow coat!"

"Peeta - get the snow!" my sister orders. "I'll grind the herbs." Peeta moves fast out the door to obey. Mother starts by applying a coat of rubbing alcohol along Gale's back, which I finally get a good look at. It is ghastly, angry and red. Dark burgundy lashes with a bit of blood still trickling from the open, fresher wounds. Unnoticed by everyone but me, I catch Haymitch swiping a swig from Mother's flask of rubbing alcohol, but I don't call him out on it. I wonder if the Peackeeper crackdown has resulted in a whiskey embargo. Bad idea, if so - a Haymitch on withdrawal is a scary sight to behold and practically useless; I wonder how he managed to stand up to Thread today.

Peeta bursts back in with the snow, and begins rubbing the coat wherever Mother tells him to. Prim readies the morphling into the syringe, but her hands are shaking.

"No, Primrose... I'll do it." Prim won't be of any use to us as long as she is paralyzed with fear for Gale's life. Mother fills the syringe as Gale groans. "Hold him, please," she instructs Prim calmly, and injects the medicine into his back. I note Darius observing Mother with admiration as she does so. The sting from the needle makes Gale cry out in agony, but after several minutes he begins to calm and grow quiet. We all sit back, letting out a breath we hadn't realized we'd been holding. All we can do now is wait.

* * *

It is deep night, and most everyone except for Peeta, Darius and Gale has left. I stand vigil against the window, Peeta seated on the stair landing, his head cast down. Wordlessly, he holds out his hand. I take it and squeeze it for comfort. Through the door leading into the kitchen, I can see Mother and Darius talking in low tones. They seem to be lost in conversation... maybe some good will come out of this mess.

Primrose is seated in a chair by the kitchen table where we deposited Gale's body, her back to a roaring fire in our meager hearth. She lovingly caresses Gale's face for the umpteenth time this evening. Only this time, her touch stirs him awake. I see his face lift in a soft smile.

"Hey, Little Duck," he rumbles. "Shouldn't you go to bed?"

"No," Prim soothes. "I'm gonna stay right here. Get into all sorts of trouble." And then, to my astonishment, she actually leans her face in close and softly kisses his lips. Peeta and I look at each other, my mouth open in astonishment. I can't believe she worked up the nerve. Although I suppose if I came close to losing someone that I loved, I would kiss them senseless too. Who that phantom of a man is, though, I cannot say - or don't want to.

Gale is taken aback, but then actually relaxes into the kiss. After a moment or two, Primrose draws away, her blue eyes searching.

To my ever-so-cautiously optimistic relief, Gale smiles.


	2. Chapter 2: From Ashes We Came

**Chapter 2: From Ashes We Came**

Gale has to stay at our house for weeks afterwards to recover. Neighbors and other friends drop in, with Peeta and Darius stopping in as the most frequent guests. I am happy to see Peeta, and appreciate how obvious it is that Darius is deliberately taking on more patrol shifts in the Seam. Even if the real, underlying reason for his visits is to see my mother. She and Darius have been talking more, and I am pleased to see that Mother has significantly relaxed in his presence. She still displays some slight nerves around him whenever he... drops in, unexpectedly, whereas before the very sight of him could turn her into a weak-kneed, stuttering mess.

The snow finally melts, and humid spring rolls around, precluding a muggy summer. District 12 has always been infamous for its Indian summers and notorious heat waves. In school, I learned that this was due to a phenomenon called global warming, but my teachers assure us that the effects have all but stopped. I have heard the Capitol and President Snow's government think climate change is a hoax.

One night, Thread and his regime announce mandatory programming over the transistor radio we own. They then cut to a Capitol program, where Caesar Flickerman announces that the twist for the Third Quarter Quell, or 75th Hunger Games, will be handed down that night.

"What will they do?" Primrose wonders aloud. "It isn't for months yet."

Nevertheless, the news prompts Mother to bring out the battered old TV. We help a still slightly weak but strengthening Gale onto our non-upholstered couch. When I invite him on a visit to the bakery, Peeta comes by, bearing gifts of cheese buns to add to our meager supper.

Every quarter-century, a special Games, called a Quarter Quell, has been held to commemorate the defeat of the rebels at the hands of the Capitol. I have never been alive for one, and I only know about it from school. A lesson is devoted to the 2nd Quarter Quell, for that is the year our very own Haymitch Abernathy won the Crown. One semester, our only living Victor was even invited to give a presentation. Haymitch arrived stumbling drunk, and threw up halfway through his lecture. The boys thought it was funny. I did not.

Mother jiggles the antenna so that the screen clears and we see President Snow begin by reciting the twists of the past two Quells. "On the 25th anniversary, as a reminder that it was the district's choice to initiate violence, each district was made to hold a special election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

I wonder what that must have been like. Picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think, to be turned over by your neighbors than by the mere whims of the Reaping Bowl. No doubt District 12 saw it as an opportunity to get rid of some dead weight; two Seam kids from the Community Home almost certainly went that year.

"On the 50th anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the districts had to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine having to face a field of 47 instead of 23. But old Haymitch Abernathy did, and somehow came home alive. Throughout the year, the editions of past Games have sometimes been re-aired. To the best of my knowledge, Haymitch's Games never has been rebroadcast. I wonder why...?

The President is now procuring a slip of paper from an envelope. "On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors."

Mother lets out a shriek and Prim buries her face in her hands. Peeta looks aghast, the palest and most hopeless I have ever seen him. Gale's expression is one of fire and stone. I can only imagine the reactions in Victor's Village, clear up the hill: Haymitch Abernathy devolving into rage-filled delusions, probably throwing full beer bottles at the screen to make clear his betrayal. Cassiope Fletch, poor gal, is probably more resigned. And down into Town, in the Peacekeeper Barracks, Thread is likely reacting with maniacal glee, at this sweetest revenge he thinks is due him. He has not bothered to hide the seething hatred he harbors for Haymitch and Cassiope, ever since they usurped his authority and proved to him that they - as Victors - wield a power greater than his own. As Victors, they are untouchable. They think they are invincible - perhaps not consciously, but even so. For years, the Capitol has treated them that way. Well, not anymore.

And now I get why this twist was chosen. It strips the Victors of whatever power they thought they had, whatever god-like powers they achieved by slipping the noose of the arena and poverty that strangles the rest of us AND puts down the simmering rebellion amongst the districts in the cleanest, cruelest stroke.

We are in such a tizzy that we don't hear the thudding of approaching boots, the pounding on the door, then the door being slammed open. Darius stumbles in, eyes wild and in a panic. "Is anyone hurt? In pain? I heard screaming!"

I note with mild fascination how Mother seems to calm the moment he appears, how his arrival has yanked her back from that emotional precipice, the shutting down all too often seen in the years after Daddy's death.

I huff out an exhausted breath, manage a tired smile. "We're fine, Darius."

Mother drifts up to Darius just then, and the pair share a loaded look, seem to speak with no words. Touching her arm, he nods.

"Haymitch and Cassiope will be fine," he hollowly promises us. "There will likely only be an elite circle of real contenders, and the one competition they have to fear is from District Four."

"Why Four?" Prim pipes up curiously.

"I'm from Four, originally. I grew up in the sugarcane fields along the coastline there. They have a healthy enough crop of Victors, but precious few of them are still in their prime."

"And you know this because...?" Mother's voice trails off as she stares at him.

Now, Darius oddly flushes, his smile almost bashful - whether or not it was induced by my mother, I can't say. "I'm not supposed to know, but one of my brothers may or may not have won the Hunger Games."

The only male Victor I can think of from District 4 is Finnick Odair - a sinfully handsome young man who became the youngest Victor ever a decade ago, at the age of 14. Peering at Darius more closely, I gasp as I realize... I can see the resemblance. He and Finnick have the same sea-green eyes, though Finnick's hair is more bronze in color. Mother also looks shocked and even... very impressed. She is smiling at Darius with unabashed admiration and even... tacit approval. Darius grins back at her, then turns serious again.

"A Reaping like this will be quick; there's only two people eligible, one for each gender. Hell, it won't feel like a Reaping at all," he tries to assure us. He pauses. "It will be relatively painless."

I know that's partially a lie. Maybe it won't be painful for us directly - none of us are on the chopping block, fated to be plucked from the Reaping Bowl. But indirectly, we _will_ be affected. Districts get attached to their champions, especially an underdog, even pathetic joke of a district like ours. District 12 has only triumphed in the Games twice in nearly three-quarters of a century - the worst Victory count on record, and it's not even close. For all their virtues and all their vices (especially the latter where Haymitch Abernathy is concerned), we Merchants and Seamers alike care for our pair of Victors - the Seamers enthusiastically (as both Cassiope and Haymitch are one of our own), the Townies tepidly.

No, I know that, no matter who is getting Reaped, this is not going to go painlessly for anybody.

* * *

The day of the Reaping dawns hot and sultry, and it lasts all of two minutes. Two. One minute for each Victor to have their names plucked from bowls that should never have been brought out in the first place they were so unnecessary, to formally conscript Haymitch Abernathy and Cassiope Fletch into the 75th Annual Hunger Games as the tributes from District 12. I still can't believe it. Victors - both for decades - now tributes once again.

It is going to be a long several days of mandatory viewing for training. And the Hunger Games, All-Star Edition, will no doubt take even longer.

* * *

It is the dead of night, the frogs ribbing and the cicadas chirping. We in District 12 have been made to stand in the Square before the Justice Building for all of the previous day and long into the night. We have only hours left in the second day of the 75th Hunger Games.

And remarkably, we are already at the Final Eight Victors still alive.

I never expected for heroes and champions, inspiring underdogs and scurvy knaves and brutes, to drop so quickly. But some of them were so old or wasted by drugs and drink that forced enlistment into the arena once more was almost certainly nothing less than a death sentence. So far, our homegrown son-of-a-bitch Haymitch Abernathy has proven the one exception to this rule, weaning himself gamely off of alcohol. Cassiope Fletch, also remarkably still alive in a District 12 feat not seen since... well, since last year's heartbreaker, is getting on in years (in her mid-seventies, she has been alive as long as the Games have been in existence), but she isn't elderly or old. There was at least one, possibly two Victors even older than her, from Districts Four and Eight. Both of them perished within the first day.

But now they have to contend with tributes younger, stronger and healthier than they. Finnick Odair, Darius's secret brother, of course is in the mix. A middle-aged black man from 11 named Chaff whom I know to be one of Haymitch's particular friends, but we've seen hide nor hair of him since the first minutes of the Games; District 11 Victors tend to be lone wolves. A wiry man from Three, Beetee, who looks just past his prime, almost retirement age, and with no physicality to speak of - he's been surviving off the alliance and backs of stronger tributes. He'll probably go next, and go quickly. District 2 - the Careers - remain wholly intact, with a man about the same age as my mother and his female partner not much younger. Brutus and Enobaria. And the last chess piece on this three-dimensional board is Johanna Mason from District 7, only a few years older than Peeta, Gale and me - probably Darius's age - and easily the youngest Victor Reaped back in. She won not long after my father died, pretending to be weak and then turning on her unsuspecting victims with the blade of an axe and chilling ferocity.

Aside from Beetee (and maybe Cassiope, because Haymitch can't protect her forever), the winner could be any one of these people.

Beetee has come up with a plan to send the Careers with a one-way ticket into the elimination round by rigging a tree that somehow harnesses lighting like no conductor I have ever seen. We learned about electric conductors in school, so I know the basics. Everyone left alive aside from District 2 and Chaff have banded together in a large alliance that should normally have never lasted this long; perhaps they think it is their only chance to get close to the Crown. Beetee has been winding a large wire - which he took a knife in the back at the Cornucopia to get - around the base of the wide trunk. They are going to run the wire down to the water, so that when the lightning hits, anyone or anything in contact with it will be painfully electrocuted. Food sources will be zapped, and hopefully asses will fry. But before Johanna can make this most dangerous of midnight runs...

All hell breaks loose.

District 2 and Chaff materialize from the trees and attack, forcing the final free-for-all a few moves too early. Beetee is cut down within seconds. Slow and with nowhere to run, Cassiope is quick to follow; Haymitch can't get to her in time. The final six grapple for control like savage animals, none of them clearly willing to break. The alliance in tatters, it is every (wo)man for himself as they face off two-on-two. Haymitch wisely chooses to engage Chaff, hoping he can reason with his friend and failing that, kill him quickly and mercifully. It is always hard to see friend turn on friend. Enobaria and Johanna - the only remaining women - are biting and kicking and screaming in a tussle that looks almost sexy and arousing. In this drawing of straws, Finnick pulled the worst card, left to tango with Brutus. For although Finnick is as fast and strong as he is handsome, Brutus is quite aptly a brute of a man. Gigantic and loping, he's at least three of Haymitch, despite being a peer of the drunk.

Meanwhile, closer and closer to midnight we tick, the specter of plasma looming. Then, all at once, the stalemate breaks.

Johanna finally pins Enobaria and beheads her; I actually did not expect that result from such a match-up. The death of his district partner distracts Brutus just long enough for a weakened Finnick to thrust his trident into the bigger man's chest. And just like that, District 2 is out of this year's Hunger Games. BOOM. BOOM. Johanna and Finnick face each other, ignoring how a wrestling Chaff and Haymitch seem to almost hilariously float through frame and back out again. The fisherman and lumberjack miss regard one another regretfully, looking almost like jilted lovers.

"Look, I really don't wanna hurt you," Finnick says sincerely.

"I wouldn't stress about it," Johanna huffs, and with dead eyes, she swings the axe.

There is a shattering roar as the clock strikes midnight and the lightning bolt hits the tree, throwing the four remaining combatants apart. The feed goes dead and screams split the air. Even the Peacekeepers look panicked, Thread pushing people out of the way as he makes for the stage, trying to get the livestream back.

A shadow casts over the moon just then, and we all look up in paralyzing fear.

And then... it rains fire.

The bombs explode around us, sending buildings up in flames. The explosions rupture the cobblestone streets, sending bits of rock hurling in every direction, turning them into projectiles as dangerous as shrapnel. I yelp, throwing my arms up around my face to protect it, as Peeta grabs my wrist.

"RUN!"

"Come on!" Gale orders, beckoning. With my hunting partner leading the way, he tugs Prim along by her hand, then when she doesn't move fast enough, sweeps her off her feet and into his arms. Prim hardly has the time nor the presence of mind to look elated, considering we are literally running for our lives. There is a stampede, a rush of people and it is a wonder we don't get trampled underfoot by the oncoming horde. Mother is dithering after us, Peeta doing his best to push and pull her out of harm's way, manipulating her to keep pace with us, if not stay ahead.

We reach the center of town at as dead a sprint as we can manage, weaving through the crowds as adeptly as we can. Up ahead, Peeta's eyes widen, and he waves his arms frantically above his head, taking me with him so that I look like a ridiculous marionette and he's the puppeteer. "MOM! DAD! RYE!"

KABOOM! One minute, the Bakery is there... and then it isn't. The sound masks Peeta's silent scream of horror. They're dead - all of the Mellarks save him, his family, are dead; there's no way they're not...

We have no time to stop and mourn, with Gale hustling us across the Town line into the Seam and making for the fence beyond, where it seems a lot of the people who also managed to make it out of the Square are going. "District 12, to me!" he bellows above the din, trying to regain some order where there is none. He hardly notices, but I do, how the Hawthorne homestead has been flattened beyond recognition, with his family nowhere to be seen - not Hazelle, not Rory, not Vick, not even Posy, helpless little Posy...

We pass by the Everdeen family home. I will myself to keep moving, but Mother suddenly takes off in that direction. I shriek and try to catch her. "Mother! No!"

"Mrs. Everdeen!"

Mother ignores even Peeta's call as she sprints into our house. Peeta and I have no choice but to wait, watching the skies with fear in our eyes and hearts in our mouths, as Gale and Primrose race ahead. After a moment, Mother emerges, carrying a large trunk even as bombs land around her. She reaches us safely and we follow the crowd, managing to catch up with my sister and Gale.

We are scrambling up the sloped, grassy embankment just before the district fence, bombs still falling all around us so that dirt flies up in our faces, the very earth rolls beneath our feet, when I see Darius's fine head of red hair bobbing like a buoy towards us.

"EVERDEENS! Peeta! Over here, boy!" he orders. He takes Mother's hand in his. "There's a hole in the fence, this way!" We scramble round to a gaping hole in the chainlink - not the same place Gale and I used to wriggle under - to see people diving through it, barely able to wait their turn as Purnia tries to funnel them through. Darius waves us on. Gale stoops down with Prim still tight in his arms, Peeta lets go of me at last to dive through the hole himself like a tumbler. Holding up the skirts of my blue Reaping dress, I swing one leg through the gap and then the other, ducking low. I turn back, reaching through the hole to grab and pull our trunk through the fence. Then I stand and wait for Mother, but she hasn't moved yet, staring down at Darius from where he is just down the slope beneath her.

"Go!" he pants, strangely calm. "Run! I will follow."

Mother's eyes narrow at the promise. A promise she must suspect is empty. "You're lying," she accuses, though more horrified for him than angry. Darius glances back to the district where we can hear the screams of the dead and dying in the distance, then back to Mother, his eyes pained.

"Someone has to help," he rationalizes. Good and noble. Darius is a good man - what a Peacekeeper should be. He and Mother send a charged look at each other, and for one mad moment, I think they are going to embrace or something. I flinch forward.

"Mother...?"

"Belle -" Darius is cut off as Mother smushes his face in her hands, tilts his head back and crashes her lips against his in a fierce kiss. At the very moment their lips touch, there is a piercing shriek that joins in with the chorus of the booms; the bombs have alighted the district's pyrotechnics cache, lighting fuses that send fireworks and flares peeling into the nighttime sky above District 12. As if this is a celebration. Right on its heels, there is a plasmic roar, and a flash of lighting strikes the earth directly between me and where my mother appears to be kissing this man.

The force of the tremor sends me flying back several feet and I hit the ground, dazed. Pushing myself up, I see that the chain link fence has been near totally obliterated, almost replaced by a wall of fire and pluming smoke.

"MOTHER!" I scream. "DARIUS!"

For a moment, there is silence. Another second, and I think I see the smoke dissipate just enough to spot a man and a woman in a close embrace. It's hard to tell, with the hazy flicker being given off by the sheer heat of the flames.

Then, above, I watch as a figure scales what must be left of the chainlink fence, obscured to such a degree that it looks as though she is floating upon the grey clouds. Then, the woman jumps, her skirts fanning out beneath her as she falls through space almost in slow motion. Seems to float down to earth like her frock is her parachute.

Mother lands in an ungraceful, unladylike heap a few yards from me, and I crawl over, yanking her to her feet and pulling her into the woods, the trunk held between us. Chillingly, I see no sign of Darius. "We have to move!"

We stumble into the safety of the trees, though how safe is yet to be determined; the bombs can surely reach here. We reunite with Peeta, Gale and Prim; the Baker's son actually lifts me off my feet and spins me around in relief. A sizable crowd of survivors has gathered, at least in the hundreds. But scores more lie dead or dying, with no one to save them.

Huddled closer together, we can feel and hear the bombs rolling closer like a wave of thunder, but the rumble is more jarring than even thunder's sound. We can run as deep into the wilderness as we want, and we do, retreating back yard by yard and mile by mile. But the bombs will still claim us. We are finally trapped against a sheer cliff face of rock and can go no further.

I look to Peeta. His Merchant eyes - impossibly blue - bore into me. I know deep in my heart, in my bones and core, that he is in love with me. He has just never confessed, and I have never addressed it, or otherwise broached the subject. I was half-hoping he would someday be man enough to do it. I think of Prim, and how she plucked up the courage to kiss a man six years her senior - a move which has seemed to shift Gale and the feelings he displays for her. Much more would have probably blossomed in time as a romance took its natural course once Prim grew older. I think of my mother, who allegedly up and kissed a man half her age (though from my vantage point and with only a brief glimpse, it is hard to tell what I thought I saw or may not have seen). Here, in our final moments, I should be so courageous. So I fix my best friend with a stare that is practical, assertive and no nonsense, as I will myself to be brave.

"Kiss me," I demand. The words are almost snapped, goading. "We're going to die anyway. So take me like a man and kiss me the way I know you want to. Kiss m-mmmmmmm..." Peeta's one hand disappears into the single braid running down my back, his other palm at my waist. And then his lips are on mine.

My eyes pop open in surprise and shock. I didn't think he would actually do it, nor did I expect how forceful his kiss would be. When I try to speak, he simply licks his way past my mouth so that his tongue is now squirming deep in my throat. Throwing my arms about his neck, my fingernails digging almost painfully into his blonde curls that I have always wanted to run my fingers through, I close my eyes and moan. Leap into his arms. Deepen the kiss. "Mmmmmhmmmmmmm... yes, more, please," I rasp happily, pushing my breasts against him. I can't really talk; my attempts at words are transformed into guttural, unintelligible groans around Peeta's tongue, which is still swimming in my mouth. I have no idea if I would ever do this in any normal situation, much less if I would want to do it again. _Well, let it be,_ I cast aside, as Peeta and I embrace and kiss, lost in our own little world as the real world turns a-fire around us. If Peeta is going to die, I want to die with him. I want to die with him in my arms and the feel of his lips on mine, my lips on his...

There is a bellow like nothing I have ever heard as the bombs finally pelt into the cliff face, and then the avalanche of rocks is on us. The rockslide and rubble takes us for itself as fiercely as Peeta has taken me and my mouth... and carries us with it into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to District 13

**Chapter 3: Welcome to District 13**

A thin sliver of light is what guides me to my salvation.

At first, I think it is heaven, if there is a heaven (religion is expressly forbidden in Panem). But I can still see my hands, gnarled and caked with rocky dust as I crawl and claw at the rocks around me. Somehow, I manage to dig my way out, creating a gap just big enough to squeeze through. The hem of my blue dress catches on a spike of granite, and I manage to yank it free with only a slight rip, tumbling ungracefully the rest of the way out of my hole and slightly down the pile of rubble. Struggling to my feet, I look around.

The cliff face where District 12 made its last stand has been almost completely leveled. The bombs have quite easily changed the sheer landscape of the dangerous wilderness beyond. I am reminded of pictures in my school textbooks showing the aftermath of the Apocalypse, before the Dark Days. All is quiet.

Then I gasp, a hand flying to my flushed and very kissed mouth. I can remarkably still feel the slight tingle of Peeta's lips there, so I must not have been unconscious for very long, buried alive in an air pocket amidst the rocks. Peeta! Where is he?

"Peeta!"

We stayed together, openly kissing right up until the very end. Running back to my hole, I dive back in and crawl down the path I made, using any little light I have to search for him. At last, still entombed in rock, I find an arm sticking out. A muscular arm. I know those arms... oh, do I know those arms, intimately so, the same arms that held me so gently as I was kissed so sweetly...

"Peeta!" I begin to scrape at the rock that imprisons my... I don't-know-what-just-yet, until I see his handsome face. His hair, blonde like the sun, is coated in grey dust. He seems to almost blend into the rock itself.

Until he opens one eye weakly - a lovely blue. "Hi," he murmurs, his voice soft. I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle the relieved sob, and begin to pull as earnestly as I can without hurting him. I eventually yank him free into the air pocket formed around myself and drag him up the tunnel towards the light and we finally crawl out of the hole and into the light of day.

By now, the rubble pile has begun to show more signs of life. Right away, and with great relief, I can see Mother hobbling over one crest of rubble; her left leg appears to be either broken or badly sprained. Several hundred yards away from her and to my right, I can see a powdery Gale, remarkably with my alive sister still in his arms. Others are beginning to crawl and claw out as well, voices calling for their loved ones.

"Mother!" I join the chorus and sprint to her first, Peeta lightly jogging at my heels. "Is it broken?"

"Yes..." she groans. Gale and Prim now join us, and my hunting partner quickly assesses the situation. He squeezes Prim tenderly. "Can you walk, Little Duck?"

"I think so." He gallantly sets her down, then sweeps my mother off her feet and begins to carry her across the pile. We other three trail behind, my hand almost instinctively finding Peeta's. He squeezes my fingers, and though I do not pull away, I don't know what I feel about the tingles shooting up my digits. Others soon join us: Thom Borden, the Miner Foreman, and his fiancé, Bristol, are the only other people I really know. A crowd begins to naturally gravitate towards Gale, who did so much to rescue as many of us as he could.

"Thom, gather everyone up."

"Uh... we are gathered, Gale." There can't be more than a hundred of us.

Gale bites his lip, his face draining of whatever color it has left. "Is everybody OK?"

"Of course not, you imbecile! We're doomed!" an angry miner with a busted arm yells back.

"Search for more survivors! Fan out and yell!" Gale orders. He takes charge. "Is there anyone alive out there? Can anyone hear me?" We wearily begin to copy him.

Precious few respond. Only six more are dug out and saved from this granite grave. We unearth other people too, but they are nothing but corpses, horribly contorted and cold, some crushed beyond recognition. We bury them more appropriately in a strip of grass all the way down the craggy embankment, working through the night. As the highest ranking surviving Peacekeeper, Purnia Freeman uses her training to direct people when Gale is otherwise occupied. Occasionally she will wander over to console Mother, patting her almost knowingly. Gale manages to set Mother's leg in a splint and seat her on a boulder, to get her off her feet.

In the wee hours of the morning, a spotlight suddenly floods our worksite and we all freeze, wondering if the Capitol has found us to finish us off. But instead of white-plated Peacekeepers, it is troops in golden uniforms. Most are in helmets save one, a middle-aged man with a pepper-gray beard. "Are you survivors from the bombings of District 12?"

"We are!" someone blasts out. "Who the hell are you?"

"I am Commander Dalton Kennedy, formerly of District 10. I now head a battalion of the Freedom Army of District 13."

"13?" Gale frowns. "There is no District 13. It was destroyed."

Dalton just claps his shoulder. "You were lied to, son. Never believe anything the Capitol says. We've gone underground to survive." He turns back to us. "If you will just follow me..."

"Hold it!" Purnia snarls, stomping forward. "My name is Purnia Freeman of the District 12 Peacekeepers, now the highest ranking official of District 12, and I'm in charge of this detachment!" Behind her, Gale scowls, but doesn't say anything. Dalton looks even less impressed.

"Not anymore, you ain't, honey! You and your people are under the official protection and asylum of the Republic of District 13 and its President, Alma Coin! Now move out!"

Purnia splutters in fury, her jaw unhinging like a fish. "_Honey_?!" Her teeth grind as she stews. Even if behind her eyes, she appears... almost impressed. Behind Dalton and his men, we have no choice but to begin the slow death march to District 13, back into the depths of the Earth.

When we reach our safe haven, a debriefing report makes us informed that only about 800 people managed to get out of District 12, largely thanks to Gale, Purnia and Darius's efforts.

Now, there are only 98 of us.

* * *

Once we get underground, we are processed and assigned to our own little apartments. Back in District 12, when a woman gets married, she and her husband are assigned a new house by the District Clerk, rather than the wife moving in with her husband. It is traditional, but certainly not efficient. And here in District 13, they're efficient.

When she first sees Peeta and me standing shoulder-to-shoulder, the secretary assumes that we are married. Blinking and flushing, I stammer out a No, and indicate that I would like to stay with my mother and sister. We Everdeen girls are assigned an apartment. As unmarried bachelors and the only survivors from their families, Peeta and Gale are thrown together as roommates, which they don't seem to mind.

Mother and Primrose are quickly put to work as Healers in Thirteen's medical ward. Mother has to take it slow the first several weeks, her leg in a cast, but gradually it begins to heal. It is her broken heart that truly refuses to mend. More than once, I catch her moping about and letting out a pining sigh. Though I fear she is going the way she did after Daddy died, I daren't approach her. I'm still not sure what the hell happened back there, and though I have tentative opinions over what I believe Mother and Darius shared, I am not about to stop and ask. Whatever it was, whether they kissed or not, and even if they did, Mother seems unable to express her feelings, now or then. In the case of Darius, she probably wishes she had done it sooner. Or maybe she regrets not confessing her feelings enough. Is a stolen kiss - real or imagined - enough to tell a person how you feel, in what you believe to be your final moments? Or do you need to say the words, and say them with a heart wide open? I still haven't been able to come to an answer, for Mother or myself.

That's a whole other problem. Every since our desperately stolen kiss the night of the fire bombings, Peeta and I have failed to candidly address it, or speculate where our relationship should go from here, or if it should go anywhere at all. For me, I am flummoxed and flustered, waiting for Peeta to say something first. And with my luck, he has probably been expecting the same from me. Our lack of communication irks me, and makes me wonder if we are suited as a couple after all. I don't even know still if I want to become involved in a romantic relationship. I used to firmly spurn it, fearing that romantic love - and the loss of it - would send me spiraling down the way it did my mother. For now, tongue-tied, I decide to wait and see if Peeta will approach me.

In the meantime, I have plenty to distract me. I am invited to a debrief, along with Gale and Purnia, to discuss in great details the end of the Quell and the bombings. Darius Freeman Odair is posthumously awarded a medal for bravery, upon my vouching. When I am asked who the medal should be sent to, I impulsively blurt out the name of my mother, Belle Everdeen. This leads to a whole round of awkward questions from President Alma Coin about my mother's relations with the man: is she Comrade Odair's widow? Were they joined in a civil union, since it appears she didn't change her last name to reflect a marriage? I am almost tempted to lie and say Yes, Mother and Darius were married, entered into a civil union, whatever, but I realize that may make my mother more uncomfortable than happy over what anyone else might construe as thoughtfulness. So I answer No, they were never married. But close? Romantically involved, even? Having sexual relations? Did they sleep together? ... Yes? Maybe? Fuck it, I don't know. That's good enough for Coin, although in hindsight, I probably should have recommended the medal go to his brother, Finnick Odair. Only I don't know where he is, or if he's even alive. If he made it out of the arena after the Quell.

Things get even more testy when Purnia and Gale are each commissioned a rank in the Republic of District 13 Army for their heroism. Gale is promoted to a Captain, and Purnia is made a Lieutenant. Even though Purnia is given a higher rank (much to Gale's annoyance; I am almost tempted to tell him to knock off whatever sexism he is sliding towards), Purnia gets it in her mind that Gale is still receiving a majority of the credit. The hunter and Peacekeeper can't stand each other in a way that almost makes me wonder if there is sexual tension between them. Still a little wary over whatever is blossoming between my sister and my best friend, I almost wish that Gale would pursue Purnia instead, even if Purnia looks to be about Mother's age. But I know that would break Primrose's heart. Besides, there is someone who has managed to get under Purnia's skin even more than Gale.

Ever since he rescued us from the cliff rubble, Dalton and Purnia have been sniping at each other like an old married couple. And it is starting to get on the last nerve of every District 12 survivor, if not the whole of District 13. The fact that Dalton is ranked higher than everyone in Thirteen's military (only Coin has greater power) doesn't help matters. I've always known Purnia was ambitious. She was one of the few female Peacekeepers in Twelve that I have ever seen, and with her flowing red hair, she and Darius could have been mistaken for siblings. She was disappointed, but supportive, when she was passed over in favor of Darius for the Deputy Head Peacekeeper job under Cray. But Dalton inspires a sassiness in her - and the inspiration is mutual - that makes me think they are either going to kill each other or kiss each other by war's end. I would be indifferent to the former, royally amused by the latter.

With my mother and sister entrenched deep in the medical ward, and Gale having gravitated towards maintaining Thirteen's weapons attaché, I have little to do and no one to talk to. Well... except Peeta, but I quickly rule that out. He too is rudderless and lonely, as District 13 has no use for a Baker. Most of our food originates from dried goods packets and are always strictly rationed. That leaves me with a problem, because the need for a huntress appears to be unnecessary as well, and even if I wanted to hunt just for sport, no one is allowed above ground unless on an official mission for the Republic, approved by the President.

But I can't just sit around and talk to Peeta. For if we started talking... we might start doing other things. Like kissing. Or even... making love. My reaction to being potentially seduced by my best friend results in a hopelessly jumbled emotional mess, so I take to wandering the base by myself to think and sort it out. I pass through the hangars dozen of times and as days go by, I begin to learn the inner workings of the base.

Every day almost, District 13 troopers on patrol bring in what are known as "hostiles" - prisoners of war or spies for the Capitol. They are almost always taken directly to Dalton for interrogation. Occasionally, however, I will see someone brought in who I know, or at least have heard of.

The first time this happens, it is only by staring into her eyes that I recognize Effie Trinket, our District 12 escort for the Hunger Games. She is without her kabuki theatre white makeup, her loudly colorful wigs and fine Capitol clothes. Instead, she is now dressed in gray and looking weary. Blonde hair peeks out from under a shawl across her head. I have to admit, I don't know why Effie ever felt the need to put makeup on. Even without it, she looks stunningly beautiful.

The second time is more loud and chaotic. A woman with flowing auburn hair is brought in, biting and scratching and screaming at her captors. From the wild look in her green eyes, she appears to be deranged. That is when I recognize her, from a flashback to a woman I saw on TV. She is a Victor, from District 4, I think. She was also Reaped for the Quarter Quell, until an elderly colleague named Mags bravely volunteered to take her place. Her name is... Annie Cresta, that's right, and she won the Games almost by accident, around the same time as Johanna Mason. A dam in her arena burst, flooding the place and everyone in it. She won because she was the best swimmer; every other tribute drowned.

But on one particular morning, I notice a commotion coming from the hangar bay, specifically a touched-down carrier.

"We've got POWs here! Casualties! They're wounded!" Someone is yelling. I watch Mother and Prim dutifully rush forward past me to assist. I blink when I realize I recognize some of the injured.

Haymitch Abernathy - the son-of-a-bitch! - actually managed to get out of the arena alive. A wool cap covers his head, and though his blonde hair is still long enough to poke out from under it, his matching beard is freshly trimmed. He has one arm slung around a man who at first glance makes my heart flutter with disbelief and hope for my mother. It can't be... How did he and Haymitch cross paths...?

I hear a strangled cry, and see that Mother has begun rushing forward all the faster. "DAR!" She throws her arms around the younger man in a crushing hug. Then she looks again, and draws back. "Wait... you're not Darius..."

Finnick Odair chuckles cheekily. "No, but I sure wish I was!" His eyes then grow serious as he regards my mother curiously, who has disengaged herself with a flush of embarrassment. At least she didn't kiss him by mistake... "You know my little brother?"

Mother nods, blinking back tears. "He was assigned as a Peacekeeper to District 12. He's dead."

Finnick hangs his head, nodding and giving Mother a sympathetic look. He is quite strong, I conclude; it's his brother who has just died. "My condolences." Another shriek makes us all jump, and here comes Annie Cresta, literally wrapped in nothing but a bed sheet and looking the happiest I have ever seen her. "FINNICK!" she beams. "FINNICK!"

Finnick looks as though his world has spun off its axis. "Annie?" He glances to Mother. "Excuse me." He bolts forward. "Annie!" The two Victors crash into each other in a passionate kiss, literally stumbling and slamming back into a wall with enough force to cause pain, but neither seems to notice. I feel a twinge of envy as I watch them, the handsome Victor and the deranged one. My assessment has been right all along: love really is weird.

And things are about to get even weirder, as Effie Trinket now marches forward to meet Haymitch Abernathy. He actually takes off his hat and nods to her - a surprising sign of respect; from what I've heard, Effie and Haymitch couldn't stand each other. "Trinket."

She greets him by way of a slap across the face. "_That's_ for trying to fight a tribute two times your weight!" She must be referring to Chaff. Then, in the next instant, she grabs Haymitch by the neck and kisses him senseless. Haymitch has no idea what to do before Effie yanks herself from the kiss almost violently. "And _that's_ for coming back alive."

It takes a full three minutes for a flabbergasted Haymitch to recover and actually smile.

* * *

With District 13's efficiency comes a kind of conservatism over using too many resources. Frugality, I guess is the word one would use. We are at war, and though all would agree that even in the darkest of times, we should find something to celebrate, it should not be at any and every excuse or expense. Growing up poor in the Seam as I did, I can appreciate that.

Which is why I don't voice any objections when multiple couples quickly become engaged to be married, and request that a wedding be held in the District 13 base.

There are three happy couples: Thom Borden and Bristol (who were already engaged and had hoped to marry in their homeland, but now with the war don't want to waste anymore time). Finnick Odair and Anne Cresta. And, uproariously, Haymitch Abernathy and Effie Trinket. However, Coin and Dalton make it clear right away that holding a separate ceremony for each couple is not financially feasible. The three pairs of lovers must be content in having a group wedding; Dalton, as a former preacher, will marry them.

The three couples work surprisingly well together to plan out the mass event in a way that will make every respective bride and groom happy. Every district has their own marital traditions. For people in District 12, it was always the Toasting - burning a piece of bread and sharing it. No one in Twelve feels married without it. Born and raised in the Capitol, Effie finds this tradition quite quaint when Haymitch explains it to her, and readily agrees to take part. She originally wanted there to be ostentatious clothes smuggled in from the Capitol, along with some of the finest wine, but quickly came to understand that that was too much to ask. Thom and Bristol will take part in a Toasting as well, but keep things simple; they have always been quiet people. Hailing from District 4, Finnick and Annie have their own marriage traditions, mostly appearing in the singing of a sea-faring song, which several Thirteen residents with musician backgrounds are tasked to learn and perform towards the end of the ceremony. The two Victors also generously offer to participate in the Toasting, in the interest of not looking like the odd couple out. And Peeta Mellark himself bakes a giant cake for all three newlywed pairings to share.

The whole of District 13 shows up, Primrose and Mother and I in our finest Merchant hand-me-downs. For me, that is my blue Reaping dress. It was amongst the clothing in the trunk that Mother barely managed to extract from our house with her life the night of the bombings. Interestingly, the family wedding dress was also saved among those possessions.

Dalton blesses all three couples after they perform the Toasting, and then they kiss to cheers. The musicians strike up the seafaring tune, each bride turning around their groom in a circle, as is apparently District 4 tradition. But before the couples can take their leave for the reception, a gasp goes up from the crowd as a _fourth_ bride glides down the aisle.

Purnia Freeman looks positively radiant, if also clearly nervous, as she approaches a beaming Dalton. He takes her hand, performs the small District 10 marriage ritual of his people before bending his face close to hers. Purnia hesitates for a moment, shyly. I can understand why. Peacekeepers undergo a serious brainwashing procedure while their identities are stripped in basic training, meant to leave them immune to feeling human emotions. In the weeks that Purnia has lived here, for better or worse, her conditioning has begun to break, allowing her to feel things - anger at Gale, though this has waned. Falling in love with Dalton.

The preacher man kisses his bride, and she returns it, to roars of approval. Someone takes up a fiddle, and the reception begins.

I dance with Prim throughout most of it, then let myself be passed off to Gale once he is finished dancing with my mother. It isn't long before a head of blonde hair approaches us.

"Mind if I cut in?" Peeta asks. Gale and I look at each other.

"Of course," I smile weakly, but I almost don't want to let Gale wander off and dance with my sister. As Peeta takes me in his arms and we begin a slow waltz, he whispers to me. "I need to talk to you in private."

And here it is. The conversation I know we deep down have to have, but I still don't want to have, and I cannot stop Peeta from tugging me by the hand into a darkened corner of the hall. Mercifully (or maybe not), he gets right to the point.

"We kissed each other that night we thought we were going to die. And we've hardly said more than ten sentences to each other since then. You don't have to apologize to anyone, least of all me, but I can't just stand us having shared that moment and then not addressing it in real life. You saved us; I know that. But I think we both need to know: is there something more between us? And are we willing to act on it?"

By now, I am shaking, my eyes welling up with tears. I feel like a cornered animal on one of my hunts, with no way out. Even so, I manage, "I don't want to talk about this."

"We _have_ to talk about it!" Peeta insists.

"Peeta, I... I can't!" I squeak through tears, trying to find an opening to leave.

He moves too fast for me. Next second, I am in his arms and he is crushing his lips to mine. We hold the kiss frozen, for a moment, and then -

I melt. I give in. I swoon. I fold like a cheap deck of cards. Reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, I purr contentedly and close my eyes and willingly allow us to deepen the kiss.

Another moment passes, and I remember myself. Eyes popping open and squealing, I manage to wrench our lips apart with a small POP! Quickly followed by -

SMACK! My palm sounds like a whip crack as I strike Peeta hard across the face. The force of the slap sends his head wheeling round, and it must sting enough for he brings a hand to his cheek. He finally turns back and meets my eyes calmly. "I thought you might react like that. And even though I got that reaction... I don't regret what I did."

His blue eyes are piercing, all encompassing, and I feel a pinch of regret for hitting him. Softly, I reach out a hand to cup his cheek. Caress the reddening welt there, against my better judgement. My grey orbs are wide with anticipation, as they come to a decision. Wordlessly, I take his hand.

"Come with me." And I lead him back to Mother's, Prim's and my apartment...

* * *

With the curtains drawn, our bodies bathed in darkness, I stretch my naked from across Peeta's and sink myself down onto his member. I feel the pinch of initial pain as the purity of my insides are broken, but it fades with the help of Peeta's lips fused to mine. Of us rolling around in each other's embrace under the sheets. Our moans and cries, hot in each other's ears, are like sweet music. He makes love to me at once both tender and furious and I arch my body pathetically against him, finally coming so hard, I see stars.

Later, wrapped in the afterglow and with sweat still on our bodies, Peeta's voice pings out:

"Katniss, will you marry me?"

He's a little late, at least for us to get in on the pot of the mass wedding we just snuck away from. But perhaps it is better that way. If we do marry, I would not want to share the spotlight with anyone else. A bit selfish of me, I know, but isn't a bride on her wedding day allowed to be selfish?

And so, it is with a brave resolve that I crane my neck up to kiss Peeta's lips softly and solemnly.

"Yes."

* * *

I stare in the faded mirror as Mother does up my hair in the single braid running down my back that I like. I do not recognize the swan that I have become, clothed in her bridal gown, our family's most prized possession. Mother steps back, her eyes soft, but tired.

"Now you look beautiful too."

"I wish I looked like you," Prim pipes up from the settee, stroking Buttercup's fur. That damn cat had somehow found us in the hours after the cliff face came down on top of us, and my sister managed to smuggle him into base.

"Oh no, I wish I looked like you, Little Duck," I beam, and I mean it.

Mother steps forward, offering herself up to me. "Ready?" In answer, I take her arm and let her escort me down to the tiny District 13 chapel, shoved into a corner of the base.

Dalton is a good sport about having to conduct the second wedding in a matter of days, allowing us to Toast a bit of bread and share it in the chapel hearth. The preacher man blesses us and pronounces Peeta and I husband and wife, as we solemnly turn to face each other, joining hands. Peeta takes me in his arms. Tilting my head, my grey orbs dancing in the firelight and my lips slightly parted, I lean in and permit my new husband to kiss me.

Our wedding kiss that seals our marriage is soft at first, then builds with intense passion, until Peeta is nearly swallowing my mouth whole. I return the kiss just as enthusiastically, throwing my arms about his neck and hardly hearing Mother, Primrose and our other loved ones applauding and cheering enthusiastically.

We break the kiss at last, and I realize that, from that moment on, I am a Baker's wife. I have a husband. I am Mrs. Peeta Mellark.


	4. Chapter 4: To Dust We Shall Return

**Chapter 4: To Dust We Shall Return**

The first thing I notice that is different about that day is that there is no morning taps or alarm to awaken us as there has been every day for the past however many months.

Peeta and I are nestled together in the bed we share when we hear a furious pounding on the door of our apartment. Opening it, I see a winded Gale Hawthorne, his face blotchy and panting. An exhilarated grin lights the face of my future brother-in-law.

"The Capitol has fallen! The war is over! Glory be, we're going home, Catnip!" And he picks me up and spins me around, paying no mind to how I shriek and have to throw my arms about his neck to be kept from flailing into the doorjamb. Peeta runs up laughing, clapping Gale on the back and giving me a deep kiss.

We quickly pack up all of our belongings and meet with a commander to request our transfer placement. Naturally, Mother, Prim, Gale, Peeta and I all wish to return to our homeland of District 12, and our application is rubber-stamped with approval. Thom and Bristol will also be coming along, so will Haymitch and Effie, as will Purnia... along with the surprise addition of Dalton, her new husband and the preacher from District 10. And... that's it. Five couples and Mother, eleven people in all, tasked with rebuilding, resettling and repopulating the backwater of the country. We try to bolster our two outsider refugees' spirits, telling Dalton and Effie that District 12 is just as nice as District 10 or the Capitol. Even though we all know that's a lie. There is no greater shithole in Panem than District 12. And after the fire bombings, it almost certainly looks a lot worse.

Our wildest imaginations could not have prepared us for the sight that awaits us. Everything is covered in a blanket of gloomy, grey ash. Any buildings that remain standing - of which there are few - have been blasted out completely in both doors and windows, nothing more than rotting structures. Although I saw it explode with my own eyes that hellish night of running, I still wince at the smoldering pile of ruins where my husband was once reared. The Bakery. I feel an equal twinge for Gale and the pile of rubble which once housed the Hawthorne homestead.

One of the few structures in the district that survived the bombings was our old home in the Seam. We Everdeen girls move right back in, along with Peeta and Gale, and begin to rebuild. Dalton and Purnia, then Thom and Bristol, all stop by to help, even as they search for land to claim as their own for building houses. Haymitch takes his new wife up the hill to his mansion in Victors' Village, which was also left untouched.

With the structure of the Everdeen house intact, it is simply a matter of replacing doors and windows. The roof. Buying furniture and used goods whenever a train shipment arrives. Thank Panem the train station survived, otherwise we'd be up a creek.

It is a bright, sunny morning, several days after we have returned to District 12. My family and I are sweeping and dusting when there is a sudden knock at the door. Purnia and Dalton had already called ahead telling us they wouldn't be in today. Placing a rag on the kitchen counter from where she's been wiping her hands, Mother bustles forward in her frock. "I'll get it. It's probably Thom." I follow a little ways behind.

I still have not yet rounded the corner into the foyer entryway when Mother opens the door... and immediately shrinks back, a hand now clapped to her mouth in astonishment. Brow furrowing, I brisk forward. "Mother...?" I stop short just inside the foyer, gaping at who it is. It can't be...

Mother's eyes are locked onto the stranger's and there is something in her Merchant blue orbs that I have never seen before. They are... smoldering.

"Katniss," Mother's voice brokers no room for argument, even if it sounds slightly strangled. From what, I don't know, probably nerves. "Go back into the living room and varnish the furniture. Right now, I need to speak with him..." and she gives him a weak, hopeful smile. "Alone."

Nodding wordlessly, I edge away back down the hall to obey. Almost immediately upon entering the living room, I nearly crash into Primrose and Peeta.

"What's going on?" my husband asks.

"Never you mind," I bristle. Realizing I snapped a little too harshly, protectively, I placate my lover with a kiss. "Help Gale mend the fence out back?"

"On it," Peeta grins gently. But his eyes maintain a curiosity as he slips out the back door. My sister, however, cannot be so easily shooed.

"Who is it?" she demands, her eyes alight with gossip.

"Darius," I whisper.

Prim gasps, her blue eyes alighting with hope. "Is Mother...?"

I don't have to answer before she is running for the front window whose panes we just have replaced. I dither helplessly after her. "We should give them some privacy..." I say weakly. I have a feeling I know what is about to happen, even if I have come to the conclusion that it already did happen, that night of raining fire. But even if I have seen something I shouldn't have – Mother caught up in a tender moment – Primrose has not.

"Are you kidding?" Prim squeals. "I've been waiting for this for months!" Against my better judgment, I join her behind the panes, already fogging up a little from the summer heat, but clear enough to see what is happening.

It is touch and go to hear exactly what is being said. Mother is still staring at Darius in abject disbelief, a hand still to her mouth. Darius sends her an easy smile.

"Belle," he smiles. "It's me." And he takes her hand gently.

There is a prolonged pause as Mother gazes at him. Peers at him. The former Deputy Head Peacekeeper certainly looks more haggard. His flaming red hair now cascades down to his shoulders. Ripped clothes. But his face is as pleasing to the eye, his body as toned as ever. How he survived in this wild, I don't know. And at this moment, I don't care, for although I won't admit it as openly as my sister, I now have reason to hope...

In a gesture that is unusually intimate for my mother, she reaches out a hand and caresses his chiseled face. Her eyes brighten with the dawning of recognition. "It _is_ you!" she cries. Darius beams.

It is more difficult to ascertain what is being said after that. Mother is gesticulating slightly, nervously wringing her hands. And then, Darius steps forward and gently takes her hands in his own. Their eyes lock, blue on sea-green. Smiling softly, Darius steps forward and takes my mother in his arms. Mother holds his eyes almost challengingly as Darius draws close to her face. Mother opens her mouth to say something, but the words die in her throat once she gets a mouthful of his tongue as Darius closes the gap. Their lips meet.

As the long-awaited kiss deepens, Mother responds quite enthusiastically. Seizing Darius's white tunic in her fists, she pushes her lips fiercely against his to return the kiss. Her eyes flutter closed as her one arm winds lazily about his shoulder, playing with the nape of his neck as Darius returns her kiss. She actually pushes her breasts up against his toned pectorals and rubs them there. Pulls Darius closer, in between her thighs with something that sounds from here like a happy sigh.

Darius's hands wander lower, dipping past Mother's waist, until he has a handful of her ass, cupping the curvy flesh of each cheek. My mouth drops open as Mother gallingly swings her leg high, raising her leg to his waist and hooking her thigh around his torso. Darius's one calloused paw of a hand snaps out to cup her breast greedily, giving it a little squeeze. Mother and the Peacekeeper are full-bore making out now like two Seam teenagers, as they stagger back into the wood siding of our house, the pair undulating and rutting against each other.

"We really should give Mother some privacy," I say, even weaker than the last time I said it, as part of me cannot bear to look away. But my body acts in direct defiance of my brain, as I move away from the window, dragging Prim with me. I only hope Peeta and Gale don't come back anytime soon, or hear any noises and wander round the front of the house to see what is going on. From in here, however, as Prim and I set the table for supper, we can clearly here the house's siding rattle as Darius passionately takes Mother up against the wall. They will make love. They are going to make love. They _are_ making love. It is inevitable, and in their case after being separated for so long and Darius presumed dead, imperative. The sexual tension between them has died, at long last. Although I still raise an eyebrow curiously at Mother being seduced by a man twenty years her junior - nearly half her age! - if there is one thing I've learned from falling in love with Peeta, it's that love is weird.

The silence broken only by the sounds of Darius and my mother having sex - Darius's grunts, Mother's sighs, moans, yelps and wails - Prim and I begin eating our meager supper. Lowering her glass, Prim pipes up:

"I'm glad. Mother needs to have a good fuck."

Her crass words, and delivered in a neutral tone as though she is discussing the weather, makes me nearly choke on my drink. What happened to the little girl I knew? When did she grow up so fast? Prim just eyes me.

"Darius will be good for her. For her to forget about Daddy."

Normally, I would admonish her for putting it in such a way, but I am honestly too tired to do so. Even so, I say gently, "Not forget. Move on from." And besides, Prim is right - Darius will be good for, and good to, Mother. They had been dancing around each other long enough, ever since the end of the 74th Games, and if anyone deserves happiness, it's those two. If they ever come to me, asking for Mother's hand in marriage, I have no doubt that I will say Yes.

* * *

The family wedding dress - our family's one heirloom and birthright - has remained remarkably intact, after two moves (really, exoduses) under duress and two weddings: mine to Peeta, and Mother's first marriage to Daddy. It will still have at least two more to go: Prim's to Gale, once she's old enough.

And now, today, Mother's marriage to Darius Freeman Odair.

With the death of Mayor Undersee and his family, Darius has been appointed Governor of District 12, population... 12. With no Justice Building after it came crumbling down in the fire bombs, there are no marriage licenses to sign. Mother and Darius cannot stand before the district clerk or justice of the peace to exchange their wedding vows. Thankfully, we have Dalton.

The preacher happily agrees to marry Mother and my soon-to-be stepfather. At least someone other than me thinks it's weird that my mother's new husband is only a few years older than us, pretty much our peer - when both Peeta and Gale heard about Mother and Darius's engagement, they practically fell over. Darius's miraculous survival was shocking enough.

Primrose and I adorn Mother in her wedding dress. Holding up the train, we escort her down the stairs, where she will marry her new love in our living room, before the fireplace. Toasting a bit of bread over the fire with Peeta's help, Darius presents the burnt piece to Mother. Smiling tenderly and with a hint of amusement, Mother allows Darius to feed the piece to her, and they both share it.

"I've loved you since I stepped off the train as a fresh cadet. Given our different lives, different stages of life, I never thought I'd have a chance with you. I waited so long for you - I'm giddy to know the wait was worth it, and that you feel the same."

Mother's voice is soft, happily nervous, as she begins her vows. "After my Kenneth died, I didn't think I could entrust my heart to any man again. I was so nervous about being intimate with you, about wondering if you would ever love me. And then I thought I lost you forever. No more. I love you. That's all I can say, really. I love you." Gazing up into his eyes, she takes a deep breath and smiles. "For the first time in a long time, I can say... I love my husband."

Dalton smiles between them. "I now pronounce this couple man and wife. You may kiss." Darius sweeps Mother into a dip and kisses her fiercely, indecently. Her eyes drooping shut, Mother kisses him back passionately and carelessly tosses her bouquet aside as her children applaud and cheer.

* * *

It's been a month since the wedding, and we still don't have running water. Mother has to take our dirty laundry out to the lake by Daddy's old hunting cabin.

I should have remembered that today was laundry day, as I emerge from the trees by the cabin to see linens hanging out to dry on the line, Mother in one of her Merchant frocks and busying herself.

All at once, I see Darius step out from the trees across the clearing. Without fully knowing why, I steal into the shadows of the hunting cabin and observe. I really should start following my own advice about giving them some privacy. I don't spy on Gale as he swipes a kiss from my baby sister when he thinks no one is looking. Mother never walks in on me and Peeta when we want to be alone. Nevertheless, Mother's relationship with her new husband intrigues me - not so much the age gap anymore, but the fact that she has found herself able to be as intimate with another man as she was with my father. I remember seeing my mother and father sharing tender moments, although those memories have started to fade with time.

Mother pauses in soaking some of Peeta's trousers and beating them along the rocks to stand and dry her hands along her skirt, tossing the trousers into a suds bucket to set. Her eyes lock with her husband's, and several conversations pass electrically through the air between them without either one making a sound. I envy them, a little. It took Peeta and I years to build that kind of intimacy, and that was just when we were friends. Before we fell in love and married.

"The water lines won't be ready for another few weeks. It's going to get harder before it gets better, Belle," Darius is telling her. His hand brushes her cheek, his thumb playing with the seam of her lower lip. "Try not to let it worry you. Every government in transition has these growing pains. President Paylor is doing the best she can."

Mother just smiles lovingly. "I can get through anything, as long as it's with you."

Darius beams. "I know." His thumb is still drumming the seam of her lower lip. Then, the next moment, he is tilting her head back and firmly pressing his lips to hers. Mother stumbles back a little before Darius slides a hand around her waist and pulls her closer, just as the wind picks up. The linens hanging to dry billow up around them, obscuring them from view. But the sunlight casts their intertwined bodies in shadow, producing a silhouette of two people wrapped in a close embrace. I spot the suds bucket drop into my line of sight, as it slips from Mother's hand and spills its sudsy contents onto the soil.

I now finally will myself to turn away and tiptoe back into the trees, failing to bite back a smile. But if I had lingered, I would have seen my stepfather lower Mother down onto the earth. Seen her part her knees and spread her legs, opening herself wide for him. Would have watched them fuck like two dogs in heat, Mother digging her nails into the soapy soil as Darius made love to her like never before.


	5. Chapter 5: Fifteen Years Later

**Chapter 5: Fifteen Years Later**

I rise early from the bed I share with my husband in the rebuilt Mellark Bakery, and don my hunting gear. I tiptoe over to the bassinet at the foot of our bed to check on our baby. My little Foccacia is sleeping soundly, and I brush a thumb along her cheek. Crossing back to the double bed, I kiss Peeta's cheek softly, then dare to kiss his lips. "I love you," I whisper adoringly. He'll be rising later today, given that it's Sunday - the Lord's Day and day of rest, when most District 12 businesses are closed. Every other day, my husband is up with the sun, rising before me and descending from the loft where we live above the bakery, headed for the basement to stoke up the ovens for the day's bread.

There is an early morning mist as I cross under the fence, or at least, one of the last surviving stretches of the fence to make it through the war. Most of the chainlink was utterly destroyed during the fire bombings of Twelve (taught now in school as the Day of Hellfire) and has never been rebuilt. The meadow, and the woods beyond it, are now open to everyone, always - including Peeta's and my child.

It had taken me five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree to have Peeta's babies. Old fears die hard, are difficult to unlearn, even with the proof that arenas and Reapings are gone, never to return. But Peeta wanted them so badly, and he had been so patient with me. So I finally agreed to go off the pill and let Peeta make love to me as a man should make love to his wife. For procreation, to create new life. It took us less than two months to conceive and when I first felt her dwelling within me, I felt a terror as old as life itself. Only holding Foccacia in my arms drove away that notion for good. Peeta says we'll be OK; we have each other.

Besides, I am an Auntie now, as returning from the forest, I pass by my old childhood home to find my sister and brother-in-law on the porch. Gale is leaning back in the rocking chair with my sister strewn across his lap, the two of them kissing so thoroughly, it is hard to tell whose lips are whose. The moment that Primrose turned 18, she married the love of her life in an intimate ceremony, first before the Justice of the Peace in the new District Hall, then a Toasting in the privacy of our childhood living room and a reception out in the Meadow. Gale was 24 by then, a miner and well-established; he provides for my sister and their baby well. My nephew - their son, Spruce Hawthorne - is only just three and an adorable cousin to my daughter. Primrose has gossiped to me that she wants to get pregnant again, and she and Gale are trying. So far, nothing, though.

I give a wave to my family, and then turn for the center of Town, heading for the Governor's Mansion.

The Governor's Mansion sits high on the hill where Victors' Village used to be. In days past, the Village housed a dozen homes, most of which stood empty. After trying to lease them out to returning families and any refugees who wanted them (the people proudly refused), all of those homes were torn down, except for two. The two houses which once held Haymitch Abernathy and Cassiope Fletch, both of which are museums now. Haymitch has passed away now; his grave sits out back of his old place - he finally succumbed to the effects of alcoholism not long after my nephew was born. Effie departed only days after the funeral, bound for the Capitol in her grief as a widow, but grateful for the time in what was by my observation a beautiful, if also odd, marriage. But again, love is odd. As for Cassiope Fletch, we never did recover her body; the Capitol never surrendered it or any of the other dead Victors' remains, much to President Paylor's consternation. A marked headstone over an empty grave honors her in her former backyard.

As I circle around the back of the Governor's Mansion, where my parents live, I hear noises emanating from the small smokehouse in which I usually deposit my best meats. As Governor, my stepfather Darius is almost always busy working, so he has little time to accept my day's trades. But he might be busy on something else now, if the moans coming from the smokehouse are any indication.

"Oh, no..."

"Oh, yessss..."

"Oh, fuuuuuuck..."

"Oh, yesssss... Mmmmmm... _Fuck_, Belle!"

I know as well as any woman the sounds of lovemaking when I hear it; I can be pretty loud myself when I wake Peeta up in the middle of the night to fool around in bed. It is intimate, private, provided that we don't wake the baby; so I should extend the same courtesy to my parents. But I never learn. Will I ever? Besides, I need to get these meats and pelts in. Creaking back the door, I find Darius straddling my thrashing and wailing mother, pounding into her violently and with a sexual ferocity that is almost carnal. Some like it rough; I have, but only when I am on top. I prefer Peeta to love me tender, when he is in control. But to each her own.

Darius thrusts another weak slam, two, before collapsing on top of Mother and spilling his seed inside of her. He rolls off of her, as Mother rocks to her feet, revealing her swollen belly and an eyeful of her pink femininity, which she wipes clean of juices with the palm of her hand. This latest pregnancy will be her fourth and last child, including Primrose and me - another girl. Her boy, my half-brother Aspen Finnick was conceived just weeks after my mother's wedding. He's fifteen now, and looks just as handsome as his father and his famous uncle. Though lines have begun to set into her face, at 56, Mother is still beautiful. At 36, Darius is in his prime and has decades left to spawn. He is the most popular district Governor in Panem, according to the polls, and has done good things for Twelve. The people love him and are fiercely loyal. It makes Mother swell with pride.

I smirk at my parents' shamed red faces. "Don't mind me, I'm just the hired help," and stalk past to string up the carcasses as if nothing has happened. Mother hurriedly slips her bodice back over her bare breasts, smooths out her skirts to cover up her nakedness. She is pink in her cheeks.

"Good morning, dear," she gets out breathlessly. "The baby still asleep?"

"Peeta's got her," I peck her cheek, shyly hug Darius. "He should be up by now."

"Wonderful," Mother beams. "Thanks for the pelts, my sweet girl!"

"You're welcome." I pass Darius, then turn back. "Make sure she stays off her feet. She needs her rest." I only realize after I say it how that could be interpreted as a joke, even tacit permission for them to fuck as much as they want. But if screwing her husband is a way for Mother to 'stay off her feet,' who am I to judge? I'm not a prude, and a woman's sexual hormones go crazy in the second trimester. And besides: it isn't any of my business.

Darius nods. I trust him to look after Mother. Turning on my heel, I flounce out of the smokehouse and make for home.

Entering from the alley and through the back loading dock, I can see the glow and feel the heat emanating from the basement staircase. Focaccia is in a little playpen by the shop counter, playing with tiny balls of dough. I hope she hasn't eaten too many in my absence - while raw dough is not dangerous, too much consumption of it is unhealthy (one of the many tips I have learned as a baker's wife). But I trust Peeta with our daughter, and all the same I may be guilty of eating the dough of cheese buns - my favorite desert that Peeta always bakes for me. "Hi, my little cheese bun," I now say to Foccacia, kissing her cheek. "Where's Daddy?" Even though I already know.

Foccacia babbles something unintelligible - she is still a ways off from talking - and points to the basement stairs. I kiss her again in thanks, and creep down the steps. My husband is working the ovens, sweat pouring off his brow as he shuttles another batch of dough in. Running up to him, I throw my arms about him and drag him away. I practically jump him as I kiss him furiously, an effective distraction that I know will put the work out of his mind. We tumble back onto a beat-up couch in the corner and finally break the kiss at last, panting.

"Well, good morning to the most beautiful woman in 12," Peeta murmurs huskily. I turn bright red, looking even more fiery in the glow of the ovens and swat at him. We have made wild love down in the basement before, but it isn't the most romantic of settings. I prefer to have sex in bed, as opposed to spread-eagled on the floor or Peeta taking me up against the wall of the back storage room. "Shut up," I squeak. Taking his face in my hands, I kiss him softly again. "The little one's upstairs playing; I got the meats to Mother and Darius."

"Great," Peeta grins. He stands and holds out his hand to me. "Help me make the cheese buns?"

Biting my lip in a grin, I accept his hand and nod.

I didn't think I would ever have this, or want to have it. A child. A loving husband. A sprawling, blended family. But now that I have it, I realize that it is the only game I ever want to play.


End file.
